


Mischief and a Spider

by abygail_grace



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comedy, Friendship, Loki Posing as Odin, Lonely Loki (Marvel), Post-Civil War (Marvel), Post-Thor: The Dark World, Pre-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Thor (Marvel), Protective Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:08:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21710524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abygail_grace/pseuds/abygail_grace
Summary: Loki is seriously regretting taking over the throne. Being Odin is exhausting and he really shouldn't have let Thor continue believing he was dead. But there was no turning back now. Loki decided to go and relieve his boredom by taking a quick trip down to Midgard- but then things got even more complicated.A certain boy named Peter Parker isn't scared of Loki- and in fact, Peter is very glad to befriend him. Peter makes desperate efforts to convince Loki to tell his big brother Thor that he's still alive. Loki ignores this, but he's enjoying the company so much that he doesn't mind Peter's sentimentality and entirely too optimistic outlook on things. And eventually, Loki is sneaking down to Midgard to visit the little human once- even twice- a week, but it's getting harder and harder to conceal the fact that he's alive. Especially because Peter Parker is an Avenger, and Tony Stark is very protective over him.And if the Avengers find out, Thor finds out. And Loki didn't know WHAT would happen if he did.
Comments: 40
Kudos: 72





	1. No Fun Being All Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Loki

Loki was bored.

He’d probably never been so bored in his life, actually, and it had been a pretty long life thus far. He had thousands of years for comparison, but nothing-  _ nothing-  _ compared to the boredom he currently was being forced to endure. Well. Perhaps forced was a bit melodramatic. He  _ had  _ rather deliberately taken over Odin’s throne after he almost died but Thor  _ thought  _ he died, (and rather than telling him that he was alive, Loki decided to go and sabotage the throne of Asgard because when Loki thought he was dying, he accidentally revealed that he loved his elder brother, and the thought of confronting that whole relationship was infinitely worse than trying to secretly take over the throne and somehow remove Odin, the Allfather, strongest of the gods-) and in any case- the result was that Loki was stuck pretending to be Odin and he was bored.

The Allfather was boring. King of Asgard, all-powerful, and all Loki was meant to do in his stead was attend meetings and act imperiously. It was such a drag keeping up the illusion of a crooked, short old man with one eye. He had to impersonate Odin constantly, and Loki- while he’d thought it would be fun at first- no longer found any of it even vaguely amusing. He hated the whole thing.

Somehow, Odin had been too easy to beat. All Loki had done was one simple enchantment, and with that, he’d taken Odin down to Midgard and dropped him at a home for elderly people, and the Allfather had cooperated perfectly. It was almost frightening how well everything had fallen in line. It was all just as Loki had impulsively, rather hastily planned for it to be- and that never happened.

Perhaps his seidr (in simpler terms, his  _ magic) _ had grown stronger. Loki hoped it had somehow strengthened and would continue to do so. He needed all the power he could get. His seidr was a part of him: the magic that flowed through his veins was entirely bound to his energy, and so, the more seidr Loki used up in one day, the more exhausted he was by the end of it. His seidr always recharged, even if Loki drained himself to the point that he couldn’t use it anymore. But the more he used, the longer it took- and if he seriously pushed himself too far, Loki could collapse or cause himself to fall ill. Or both. At the very least, he’d be a sleepy, incomprehensible, bedridden and delirious pile of bones for a good day or two if he overdid it just enough.

Admittedly, it had happened to Loki many times before, but none of those times had been when Loki’s very lifeline depended on him maintaining the illusion of being Odin. Not that illusions were too draining- he wasn’t pathetic- but to keep one up for an entire day, collapse into bed, then wake up early every morning and do it all over again- it did take its toll.

Loki swallowed, staring at his own reflection in the mirror of the Allfather’s chambers. He resented Odin as his adoptive father, and being in his skin usually was enough to repulse Loki if he thought too hard about it. However, with how much of his energy he’d been using up, Odin was nearly a more welcome sight than his own face. Loki had become paler, eyes shadowed and bloodshot, face drawn and gaunt, veins a prominent maze beneath his skin. He never even bothered to straighten or slick back his natural curls anymore because no one ever saw him- really him- and it was too much of a pain to bother with. Loki had been allowing the inky waves to cascade carelessly over his shoulders, in thick, and currently slightly frizzy tresses.

By the Norns, he was a wreck. Furthermore, Loki thought, this whole situation was a wreck. And that time, it was inarguably his own fault.

Loki had been right about never wanting the throne. Being a king was awful enough on its own, and even more so because he wasn’t even allowed to be  _ himself _ and be a king.

A few years ago, Loki had fallen on Svartalfheim, and in a mad effort to save his brother, he’d allowed himself to be impaled by the same Dark Elf he’d just stabbed himself. Loki would be lying if he said he didn’t see it coming. He had seen it coming, he’d known that once he’d shoved the blade through the back, the Dark Elf would snatch him and pierce Loki through the front. Thankfully, Loki had time to plant the detonation device, even through his pain. He was thrown to the ground, and there he assured the monster he’d meet him in Hel. Then, Loki died. When he’d woken up alone on the ground, he’d been healed by his seidr’s natural restorative properties- just barely the nick of time- he probably should have just gone back to his big brother.

It was miraculous Loki had pulled through at all. The poisoned blade had already spread its death to his whole body. He’d fallen unconscious. His heart had stopped. He was so close to being dead. Thor had thought so- he’d just  _ left _ him there. ALONE. On that filthy, horrid planet with those filthy, horrid Dark Elves. Hadn’t even bothered to bring his body back for a funeral. His big brother had been too busy being distracted by his Midgardian woman to bother with Loki’s body- the Midgardian that Loki had protected, by the way- but if Thor had taken him, he would have seen him come back to life.

Or Loki could have just found Thor and told him himself. But he didn’t.

As the God of Mischief, Loki was supposed to be clever. But he’d made a horrific mistake in choosing to let Thor keep on believing he’d died. What was he so frightened of? What justification did he have to come up with such an impossible plan as taking the throne? The odds had been very highly stacked against him.

However much as Loki tried to fake his own obliviousness, he knew why. When he thought he was dying, he’d admitted to being a fool more than once, he’d apologised repeatedly, and to top it all off, Loki had actually admitted that his sacrifice hadn’t been in some desperation to prove his worth to Odin. He’d done it for Thor. For his brother. And that was nothing if not an act of love. How was Loki supposed to know he’d actually  _ survive _ being impaled with a poisoned sword? If he’d known, of course, he never would have admitted any of that. Such sentiments were vulnerabilities, and Loki had enough of those without proclaiming the fact that he might have, somewhere deep inside of him, a heart.

After that mistake, Thor already knew Loki’s heart. He knew well enough all the emotions Loki had kept hidden, and it was pointless to bother convincing Thor otherwise. In fact, if Loki had turned up, alive, and especially with what he’d just revealed- he may have even had a chance at happiness. Maybe Thor could have really felt like his big brother. So why he’d bothered to take the worse route of trying to take over Asgard, which was supposed to have been nearly impossible- Loki didn’t have an excuse.

All he had was this: he’d been scared. Even  _ that _ was embarrassing.

It was at this point Loki realised he was still staring into the carved, golden mirror, in his own form, wearing one of the Allfather’s sets of sleepwear. The sight was harrowing, to say the least.

Shuddering, Loki turned away from the mirror and spared a quick glance at the door, to ensure he’d locked and bolted it. He had that time, but he’d been recently forgetting to, even after three years of keeping up the whole Odin charade.

Or perhaps it was  _ because _ it had been three years of Loki keeping up the whole Odin charade.

Yawning, Loki collapsed into Odin’s bed, trying not to think about the Allfather, or his mother, Frigga, or even his brother Thor. Every night he had to stop himself, and every night it became torturous to try falling asleep. At least he was nearly drained that night. It might help him fall asleep faster. He twisted himself into the golden sheets and cream duvets, curling up in the centre of the bed that was much too big for anyone to sleep alone in. Loki snatched his arm out and grabbed a few of the numerous pillows, shoving two of them on either side of his head and gripping the third pillow in a death-hold, hugging it to himself and screwing up his face as Loki tried to assure himself that all was as it should be.

He went on like this for a good few hours. At one point, Loki even screamed into the pillow he had so tightly gripped in his arms, the sound muffled by the soft depths his face was buried in. He needed a day off. If not physically, then at least mentally. He wanted to be able to do as he pleased while some… other Odin did all the work.

And then, an idea struck. Loki was going to force himself to create a corporeal illusion of himself, then have his clone disguise himself as the Allfather, and  _ that’s  _ who was going to run Asgard for a day. It would use up a tremendous amount of his seidr, yes- but it would spare Loki from having to actually sit all day, draining his seidr anyway. If his disguised clone did it, then Loki could leave. He could go anywhere for the day- wherever he wanted.

Much happier now, Loki hugged the pillow even harder, nuzzling his face into it and smiling as he fell asleep. He knew where he’d be going tomorrow.

Midgard.


	2. Pure Coincidence

Peter

Peter Parker really liked being Spider-Man. He was basically an Avenger, even if all the Avengers were fighting one another. Mr Stark had told him that they would all say sorry and forgive each other, but that was before all the fighting had actually happened. Mr Stark wouldn’t really talk about what happened, but Peter knew that it had probably been pretty bad. Captain America was gone, the Hulk was gone, Black Widow was gone, Vision was gone, Scarlet Witch was gone- a lot of the Avengers were scattered all over the place.

At least Mr Stark was still around. Peter always made sure he was doing his very best to impress him, by being the very best Friendly-Neighbourhood-Spider-Man that he could be. He would take care of the little problems, and report all the big ones to the Avengers. Peter thought he did an okay job, too.

Until he walked face-first into somebody’s chest.

“Oh!” Peter stuttered, dropping his phone on the pavement, the sea of people walking on the busy New York street parting to make room for him and whoever he’d just run into. The figure was still towering above him, too, which made things more awkward. “I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I just-”

He bent down, hastily picking up his phone and shoving it back into his pocket, before straightening back up to apologise some more. When Peter finally took in who was in front of him, however, he froze, jaw hanging open in his shock.

Standing a whole half foot taller than him, wearing a jet-black suit and an unreadable expression, was Loki. The God of Mischief himself. Thor’s younger brother. And he was supposed to be _dead._

“You…” Peter swivelled his head, noticing that they were drawing an awful lot of attention standing in the middle of the pavement, disrupting the flow of people.

Loki’s brows drew together, and he too glanced around at the city’s vast population, clearly apprehensive and uncertain.

“Does Thor know you’re still alive?” He asked, without thinking.

Loki’s eyes snapped back down to him, wide and vividly green. “You know my brother?”

The lowness of his voice was startling, the way it resounded in smooth, rasping notes, with an identical accent to Thor’s- though Peter thought Loki’s sounded a bit more dramatic. Less booming, more… something. He’d heard all about Loki, from Mr Stark’s not very positive opinion to Thor’s sad, miserable, but still hopeful opinion. He’d always liked Thor’s version of things much better than Mr Stark and the general crowd of the Avengers. And even from all he’d heard, seeing the god in person was entirely different.

“Can you… can we move somewhere more quiet first?” Peter leaned in, dropping his voice a little.

Loki stared at him for a long while, scanning him. After some point, it looked like curiosity won over, and he deemed that Peter wasn’t much of a threat. Loki nodded, slowly.

Peter sighed in relief, and (also without thinking) grabbed Loki by the elbow, steering him down the nearest alleyway, down until the street was barely visible and they were well hidden. Peter let go of Loki, who appeared rather surprised at having been touched. He leaned back against the brick wall, opposite of the god, and exhaled loudly, running his hands through his hair. He couldn’t believe this.

There was silence for a few moments, but Loki was the first to break it, repeating, “You know my brother?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, realising that he’d just let the God of Mischief into the ideal place to kill him quietly. “I’ve only met Mr Thor once when he came to visit a few months ago, but mostly he’s been off looking for some… stone things. He told me about you, but I’ve just heard about you from the Avengers, too. And, well- I live here, in New York, so I remember you attacking us, too…”

Loki’s eyes narrowed at him. “The Avengers. You know them?”

“Yeah, I mean…”

“Are you an Avenger?”

“I’m… I’m just Peter Parker.” He swallowed, then figured honesty was crucial when dealing with the most talented liar around. “I’m like an Avenger in training.”

Loki smirked then, darkly, and his voice twisted into a growl. “Aren’t you scared?”

“No, not really,” Peter replied, honestly.

Loki dropped the look and frowned at him, apparently too taken aback to manage words.

“I mean, you’re very impressive and all, and I know I’ve got no chance against you, but…” Peter hesitated, unsure if he should continue.

“But what?”

“Mr Thor thinks you’re good. And so do I. Especially all the stuff I’ve read about the whole New York thing, and the pictures, plus that sceptre- there’s conspiracy theories and stuff...”

Loki was staring again, lips parted slightly. Peter had to force himself to remember that no matter what preformed ideas he had already come up with or what stories Mr Thor had told him- this was still the God of Mischief and he was still supposed to be dead. Thor had told him Loki died as a hero, that he’d really proven himself in the end.

But Loki was alive. And Peter should be telling the Avengers straight away. He rocked back and forth on his heels, thinking hard. He didn’t want to go tattling, though. Maybe Loki had a good explanation- maybe it was really important that he stayed hidden- Peter had no idea. And he couldn’t just blab about it to Mr Stark unless he knew for sure. The Avengers would probably try to kill Loki. Mr Thor might take it badly. There was the potential for World War III. A lot of things could go wrong, and how often was he going to run into another Norse god? Really- what were the odds of Peter finding Loki wandering around in New York?

Loki didn’t look well, either. He seemed tired and tense- not that Peter knew anything about how Loki normally looked- but he reminded him of how he felt during school finals. 

“You said you were an Avenger?” Loki confirmed, hoarsely, coughing a bit.

“In training,” Peter added, nodding.

Loki contemplated him for a long time, tipping his head back to rest against the wall. They both studied one another, but Loki was the first to smirk.

“What’s your hero name, then?”

Peter blinked. “Huh?”

“If you’re an Avenger, you’ve got a hero’s name. You’re Midgardian. They all do it.” Loki scoffed, eyes shadowed, and he coughed weakly again. “Captain America, Iron Man, Hawkeye… you know.”

He probably shouldn’t tell Loki, Peter thought, but as he did so, the words spilt out, all jumbled together. “I’m Spider-Man.”

Loki laughed- lowly, and almost teasingly in a way that made Peter’s cheeks flame red with embarrassment. “I think ‘Spiderling’ would be more fitting. You are only a child, after all.”

Peter scowled but didn’t argue in his own defence. Instead, he decided to risk a jab.

“You know you called Mr Thor your brother, right?” Peter smiled, already knowing the answer. “I thought you’d decided against that awhile ago- at least- that’s what Mr Thor says.”

Loki’s smile dropped, and his cheeks flushed scarlet. “I beg your pardon?”

“Does he know you’re alive? You still haven’t answered my question.”

Loki glared, with the same defensiveness Peter had felt a few moments ago. He considered his tables turned, and felt a surging of pride.

The god lifted a sloping brow. “Why would I tell you anything, Spiderling?”

“You probably don’t have anyone else to tell,” Peter shrugged. “I mean- if he doesn’t know you’re alive _and_ you still care about him, but you won’t actually say anything… plus that whole conspiracy theory that the sceptre was mind-controlling you, too… why else would you come to Earth? It’s not really the smartest choice, is it?”

Loki was back to staring at him again, with an open mouth.

“Maybe,” Peter went on, thoughts racing through his mind. “Maybe you chose to come here _because_ you knew Thor might find out. You know he’d be mad about the fact that you’re alive and you didn’t tell him. But if you got the attention of the Avengers or the police or someone to chase you around, they’d tell Thor, then he’d bring you home, and then he’d know you’re alive without you _actually_ telling him. Right? I mean, that would prove you cared, and you don’t want that-”

Suddenly, he found himself pinned against the wall by a dagger that had appeared in a flash of bright green light, and Loki’s eyes were ablaze with something dangerous. Not anger, but with that knife against his throat, it was pretty easy to assume that.

“Or _maybe,_ I was just bored,” Loki hissed. “What right have you to presume my thoughts? Who’s put you up to this? Was it Thor? The Avengers?”

Peter swallowed, slowly, carefully, extending his wrists to ready his web-shooters. “N- nobody did, Mr Loki. I’m just… I’m just saying that I think I understand. I won’t tell anybody-”

“No, you won’t,” Loki smirked, and the blade pressed harder.

Panicking, he began pleading desperately, determined to convince the god not to kill him without attacking first. “Please, please- I mean it- I’m just saying that you can talk to me. I won’t tell anyone, I just wanna listen-”

“Wait.” Loki stopped, and his gaze was frozen somewhere to Peter’s left. “You said… the sceptre… how did you know about that?”

“Huh?”

“The mind control. How did you know?”

“Um… I just guessed. The eyes were a pretty big giveaway.”

Loki glanced at him, then back at the brick wall again, a series of pretty complicated looking emotions flickering across his face. He didn’t answer again, and Peter was still impressed with himself. He’d managed to get the Silver-Tongued god speechless several times now.

All those nights of deep internet scouring felt totally worth it. “So you _were_ being brainwashed?”

The dagger slowly lowered, and Loki’s elbow stopped digging into his sternum. He still wasn’t meeting his eye, and he still refused to speak. Eventually, Loki backed off of him altogether, the dagger vanishing into thin air again. Loki tightly folded his arms across his chest.

“Wanna go get something at a cafe?” Peter offered, tentatively.

He had a chance, and he didn’t want to let it go to waste. Loki wasn’t evil. He just needed some talking to come around. And if he succeeded, then maybe Mr Thor could get that little brother back, the one he always talked about missing. And Loki could get his big brother back, the one who Peter was almost positive Loki missed, too.

He waited for an answer, until- barely visible, Loki nodded a tiny nod.

“Great!” He jumped off the wall and began walking, looking over his shoulder to make sure the god followed him. “C’mon, Mr Loki, I know the best place.”

Behind him, Loki only yawned widely, sleepily trailing behind him, footsteps stumbling with all the gracelessness of a cat after the vet.


	3. Gods Do Get Sleepy

Loki

There had to be something wrong with Peter Parker, the Spiderling. This was all most suspicious. There was no other explanation for him willingly inviting Loki to a cafe, all cheerful and strange like that. It was almost disturbing, really. Off-putting. He hadn’t the faintest clue how to react to it.

Loki took a bite of his sub-sandwich, packed full of turkey, provolone cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes. It was surprisingly good, despite the shop’s run-down, rather abandoned look. They were seated at a small booth, the only customers, stashed away in the corner, with faint music playing in the background. The Spiderling was munching on a handful of what he called “French Fries,” with his brown eyes ever blinking, ever innocently. Underneath the table, Loki could feel Peter’s legs swinging back and forth, rocking the table at the same pace, in the same rhythm, over and over and over…

“Mr Loki, you’re falling asleep again.”

Loki jerked himself upright, shaking his head rapidly and dropping his sandwich back onto its paper wrapping. Without bothering to reply, he wiped his fingertips on his napkin, cleaning away where the mustard and mayonnaise had begun to drip out again, as the sandwich tipped in his dozing hands. He crumpled up the napkin and flicked it across the table, huffing and slouching back in his seat.

The Spiderling mimicked his posture, and he too crossed his arms and slid down the booth, grinning at him some more even as his red hoodie bunched up behind his head, exposing more of his bright yellow t-shirt from behind the open zipper. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” Loki answered.

He slid his sandwich aside, playing dumb whilst he absentmindedly thought about his clone, far away in Asgard. He’d checked in on his magic, and thankfully the clone was still dutifully disguising itself as Odin- and thankfully still doing it well enough that no one had noticed anything amiss.

Yet.

“Falling asleep.” Peter grabbed his soda cup and took a long gulp through his straw. “What are you so tired for? Do gods even get tired? Mr Thor says they don’t.”

He sniffed. “Yes. We do. He’s a liar.”

“Oh. So, why are you tired?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes.”

_ “No.” _

“Yes.”

Loki sighed, long and exaggerated. “Alright, fine.  _ Yes. _ I am tired. Very tired, as a matter of fact. Are you yet satisfied?”

“Nope.” The Spiderling shook his head and pushed the steaming chai tea latte towards him. “There’s lots of stuff I wanna talk about, but you’re way too sleepy for it. Drink this, it’ll help.”

Loki gave in to that, too, and took the warm cup into his hands, sipping the drink down cautiously. The hot, spiced creaminess hit the back of his throat and ran down, immensely satisfying. He closed his eyes, taking it all in. It felt so nice to enjoy what he liked again, rather than what he had to pretend to like because it was what Odin liked. He took another sip, eyes still closed as he relaxed into the gentle lulling of flavours and comfort. Peter wasn’t too much of a threat- besides with his uncanny insight, it would seem- so Loki was fine with taking a moment to have his eyes shut, blocking out everything else in a fleeting moment of peace.

He opened his eyes again, then fixed them on the mini-Avenger. “Thank you.”

Peter sat back up all the way, squinting at Loki. “Are you sure you’re okay? It doesn’t seem healthy for you to be this tired.”

He hesitated. “It… isn’t. But I’ve been doing this for three years, so I’m sure I can handle more.”

The Spiderling, who had just taken another drink of his soda, choked on it, and almost sprayed it all over Loki’s suit. He flinched backwards, but thankfully, Peter swallowed, and just ended up coughing and gasping for a few moments. When he looked back up, his eyes were two massive orbs.

“You’ve been  _ this _ tired for three whole years?!”

Loki crinkled his nose, scoffing. “Heavens, no. It’s just been getting progressively worse the longer I’ve dragged this whole charade on.”

The moment he said it, his mouth snapped shut, and he understood very quickly that he’d likely made a mistake. Peter was talkative, intuitive, and worst of all, he appeared to be very, very curious. Loki got the distinct feeling that the child wanted something from him. He didn’t know why, just as he didn’t know why Peter was willing to buy him a sandwich and a chai latte, but he was beginning to piece together at least  _ what _ the Spiderling wanted to get out of him.

Peter spoke right on cue.

“Charade?” He tilted his head to one side, his fluffy, light brown hair flopping over with it. “You mean acting like you’re dead? Which you still haven’t explained, by the way.”

Loki rolled his eyes to the ceiling, digging his hands into his long hair, (ruining the already ruined, curly, frizzy mess that it was) and burying his head into his arms. He let out a long groan. “It’s not acting dead, it’s letting Thor continue to believe that I’m dead.”

A beat.

“I don’t really see the difference…?”

He lifted his head to roll his eyes again at Peter, though his hands were still tangled into his hair and he only managed to raise his head a few inches off the table. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might,” Peter said, optimistic as ever. “Just explain it to me.”

Loki coughed, harshly, the rawness of his own throat burning him. Unfortunately, however, he couldn’t use his seidr to heal himself; his magic was too weak and any attempts at self-restoration seriously risked his clone vanishing into thin air. At the very least, it would result in a mass panic when the Allfather just vanished in the middle of a council meeting, if not entirely expose himself to Asgard, and thereby, his older brother. Loki determinedly ignored the Spiderling’s earlier statement, that maybe he  _ wanted  _ to get caught because then he could tell Thor he was alive and be back with him… without actually having to tell him anything at all.

He eyed the Spiderling up and down, considering whether or not to open his mouth. He ended up deciding to speak, anyway, as he did so, Loki shoved down Peter’s voice, which reminded him that he would also open up to the child because he had no one else to talk to. He firmly disagreed with this, even as his lips parted to fulfil the prophecy made by this ridiculous Midgardian child, and Loki opened up.

“I thought I was going to die, around three years ago. Thor saw me fall. He thought I was dead. I thought I was dead- and I nearly was. My heart had stopped, the process of death had already begun to take place, but… somehow, at the last second… my seidr revived me.”

Peter lifted a finger to speak, but Loki cut him off, already anticipating the question.

“My seidr is my magic. It regenerates my health, allows me to change shape, cast enchantments, it makes clones, draws my daggers, conceals my pocket dimensions… essentially, any magic that I do apart from the natural strength and power of an Asgardian, is my seidr.”

Peter’s face screwed up for a moment, evidently thinking hard. “So, you’re all tired because you’ve… is your-?”

“Yes, my energy is directly linked to my use of magic.” Loki cut the Spiderling off again. “Not enough energy and my seidr is weakened. And on the other hand, if I use too much seidr without allowing myself to recharge, then I am weakened- body and mind.”

Peter pushed aside his food, also leaning in on his elbows. Loki met his eyes, and in them, those brown, shining depths, he could see earnestness. Imploration. Kindness. He was caught between looking away and staring longer, entranced by this strange purity. “Why doesn’t your brother know? Why are you hiding out, just wasting away and draining all of your own magic- all of your own life, even?”

Loki licked his chapped, dry lips. His voice came out barely above a whisper. “It’s complicated.”

“What are you so scared of, Mr Loki?” Peter’s voice had gone soft, too. “You know he loves you, right? He loves you a lot.”

“He shouldn’t.” He snapped back, and sneered, feeling his fear flaring angrily again.

The Spiderling pursed his mouth and made a thoughtful little noise, one that only put Loki more on edge. Peter seemed to have understood something, but Loki hadn’t. Whatever it was, he’d missed it, and that was even more worrisome. But it wouldn’t do him any good to bother asking. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.

Loki stared outside, to his left, where there was a window right against the wall to their booth. The sun was beginning to go down, and the burning orange light was penetrating the glass, casting its vivid rays as coloured beams that illuminated the sad little cafe. The light was blinding, and he had to wince and look away to avoid it. He turned away, sighing, resting his head fully in his arms and giving up on trying to prove himself to a strange Midgardian child who made no sense, and yet, perfect sense all at once. What was it about Peter Parker that was so…?

He’d lost the word. And the thought. Loki had lost the word because he could feel Peter’s legs swinging underneath the table again, his movements gently rocking the table back and forth again, and Loki buried his face into the crook of his elbow, closing his eyes to focus better- to perhaps find that lost thought- but it just sent him down a wormhole of entirely different thoughts. And rapidly, with the warm glow of the sunset behind his lids, with the aroma of chai tea perfuming his breaths, and with that ever rocking motion of the table, Loki succumbed to the void.


	4. Peter's List

Peter

Peter cautiously hovered above the God of Mischief, who appeared to be very deeply asleep. It had been about an hour of silence, and Loki still hadn’t woken up. His face was still smashed against the fairly dirty dining table, and his mouth was hanging open a bit, enough to make a small, but steadily growing puddle of drool beneath it. If he wasn’t worried about being mean, Peter might have taken a selfie with Loki, as proof to show Ned or MJ, or maybe even Mr Thor, who definitely deserved to know the most. But he still wasn’t convinced about tattling just yet.

And besides, he wasn’t sure if he should let Loki continue sleeping, or if he should try to rouse him. Peter bent a little closer, his fingertips drumming against the table while he thought.

Whatever Loki had been doing for the past three years seemed like it had taken up a lot of his magic. He looked like he needed the rest. But still, he felt bad just leaving him there, on that dirty table, all unaware and asleep like that. It didn’t seem like a position Loki would like to be in, no matter how much he needed it.

Peter exhaled loudly, still right over Loki’s face, and it was then that he caught the cafe owner watching him, aghast, as he literally stood on his seat to bend over the god’s slumped form.

“Kid, what in the-?” The gruff old man began, voice rising quite substantially.

Peter shushed him hurriedly, backing away from Loki and sliding back down into his seat. “No, no- shhh- I’m sorry! I’m sorry, he’s sleeping- I’m just checking on him!”

The cafe owner swung a rag over his shoulder, giving Thor’s little brother (though Peter thought he was still pretty big) a vaguely disgruntled glance. “Why’s he sleeping like that? Did he drink?”

“No, sir- he’s just really tired and I don’t think he’s been eating so good, either,” He made his voice as pacifying as possible, sincerely hoping the cafe owner wouldn’t recognise Loki as… Loki. “I can get him up though, and we’ll leave now. I’m sorry again- he’s just had a long few… days.”

Inside his head, Peter meant that it had been a long few _years,_ but saying that out loud didn’t seem like it would shut down the man’s intrigue so much as it would fuel it. He waited until the owner had disappeared into the back of the shop again before he decided to wake Loki up. And when he did, Peter slowly, carefully extended a finger, then poked Loki very gently on the shoulder.

No reaction.

Peter poked again, this time harder and more persistently. This earned him a soft groan and a slight jerking away at the touch, but still, Loki remained asleep. Taking this as a sign, the next time he tried to awaken the god, Peter gripped his shoulder very hard and shook him even harder.

That did it. Loki lurched back from him immediately, arms flinging out to block a nonexistent attacker. His head slammed painfully loudly against the wooden seat, causing Loki to flee the booth altogether, tripping very violently out onto the floor as he clutched the back of his head, hissing and cursing in a language Peter didn’t even understand the _roots_ of.

He winced, guiltily, making a mental note not to try the startling tactic in the future. If being startled was at all possible to avoid with Loki, who seemed like he had some very deep-seated paranoia. Along with a lot of other deep-seated problems, but he’d get to those later.

Loki swivelled to him, one hand still clutching his head, whilst the other pointed a long, accusatory finger at him. “How long have I slept?”

“Only an hour or so, Mr Loki-”

“An hour?” Loki’s face contorted. “You’ve let me slumber- _here-_ for an entire hour?”

Peter swallowed. “Um…”

“What have you done to me?” From the end of Loki’s extended hand was suddenly another dagger, just inches from the tip Peter’s nose. “Drugged me? Poisoned me? You must be a trickery in disguise, Spiderling, concealed by this weak little form to lure me into a-”

Peter had his web-shooters ready again, but he stoutly shook his head at the god, who really was demonstrating a lot of that deep-seated paranoia he’d been thinking about earlier. “I didn’t do _anything_ to you! How could I have possibly-? Honestly, Mr Loki, I think you just really need some rest. Mr Thor says you’re usually pretty smart, but right now… I think you need a nice, um, _week_ in bed. You need to sleep. _Properly_ sleep- okay?”

“Not in HIS bed, I can’t!” Loki waved his dagger, looking aggravated.

Peter felt his brows jump. “W-whose bed are we talking about?”

“ODIN, obviously!” The God of Mischief gave him the most dead-eyed look and rapped a knuckle against his head in a crude imitation of a pretty big idiot. “WHO _ELSE?”_

Peter clung to the name, a certain familiarity to it, but he couldn’t recall who Odin was- not off the top of his head. Was he one of the warriors? The gatekeeper? The father, Allfather, King, or… something? Peter couldn’t remember what the mythology said- there were a lot of gods. 

Loki, seeming to notice his confusion, waved his knife hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter- never you mind. I’ve got to go-”

Loki turned and started to leave the cafe, but he halted himself and ran back over to him, the dagger back at his throat. Peter was past being scared of it, really. Loki gave him a warning look- as if he could tell and wanted to prove himself intimidating.

“Thank you for your kindness,” The god began, somewhat ironically, considering the stabby weapon. “And if you tell anyone- and I mean _anyone-_ that you saw me, you will die. But for now, I am leaving.”

Peter grimaced, sarcastically, leaning back from the blade. “Sure thing, Mr Loki. You do that.”

Loki’s brows contracted again like he didn’t understand, but then, in a pretty sparkly green flash, the god was gone, leaving Peter all alone in the cafe, with the sun’s setting nearly at its end. Dusk was falling, and he needed to get home. Aunt May might be worried. And Mr Stark was supposed to call him that evening.

Apparently, it was an important call that he really didn’t want to miss.

Standing from his seat and also leaving the cafe, Peter pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it while he pushed open the door, the cool night’s air hitting him as he stepped outside. There were two missed calls. One from Aunt May and, sure enough, three missed calls from Mr Stark. He hated to admit it, but it took less than two seconds to decide which one of them to call back first.

Peter held up the phone to his ear, walking quickly down the sidewalk to get back to his house, where he knew Aunt May was probably waiting, worried sick. He heard two rings before the other end of the line picked up, and an angry voice came through.

“Kid, where’ve you been?!” Tony Stark exclaimed, voice crackling loudly in Peter’s ear. “I called you like three times, while you were sitting in that cafe- why didn’t you pick up?”

He gulped. He’d forgotten Mr Stark could- and would- track his every move. “Uh… I was just having a late lunch. It was nice. Normal. Cool.”

“But why didn’t you pick up the phone? You knew I was calling today, right?”

Peter smiled tightly and apologised as he moved tightly past a large group of people, walking in the opposite direction to him. “Yeah, I know, Mr Stark- I’m sorry- I just…”

“You just what, Pete?”

He made his voice very tired, using the best excuse known to teenagers for his reply. “Well, you see, I had a lot of tests at school today, and I was so tired after them that I was kind of… napping? Yeah, napping. In the cafe.”

The line was purely static for a moment. And then:

“Today is… Saturday.”

“Right, silly me-” Peter laughed very loudly and nervously, and he clenched and unclenched his hands in an effort to remain casual. “I meant, I had some make-up tests to get done. I’m still a little bit behind since I skipped school to go help you fight against Captain America and all of them.”

Tony’s voice cleared up, sounding reassured. “Ah, that would explain it. Say, listen- what’re you doing tomorrow?”

“Well, nothing much, I don’t think.” He relaxed, glad for the subject change. He only had to lie a little bit.

Peter made plans to hang out with Mr Stark the next day, and after a nice farewell, he hung up the line and relayed the same story to his aunt May, who bought it easily, and especially when he brought up Mr Stark and that whole phone call- another easy subject change, and another slick win by Peter Parker. It was this same sly excuse that also allowed him to go to bed early that night, to make some plans of his own. If he ever saw Loki again, now that he’d met him once, Peter would need to be prepared.

Firstly, he needed to understand the God of Mischief as best he could so that he could know what to prepare at all. Pulling out a notepad and a pen from his backpack next to his bed, Peter flicked on his bedside lamp and laid down on his stomach, scribbling down a list of traits- some things he knew for sure, others that were just theories, and some that were completely wild guesses. After he’d finished the basics, Peter held up the notepad, reading his work.

WHAT TO KNOW ABOUT MR LOKI:

\- (For sure) Paranoid, antisocial, sensitive, aggressive, impulsive, and VERY sleepy. Very intelligent when not sleepy, but sleepiness seems to amplify all other traits and minimise smartness

-(Possibly) Insecure, traumatised, low self-esteem, and emotional (more than angry, sarcastic, stabby... etc.)

-(MAYBE) Lonely, desperate, sad, guilty, scared, misses Mr Thor, and needs a good friend

Peter thought back to when he’d told Loki that his big brother loved him, and Loki replied immediately with,

_He shouldn’t._

For someone who seemed to like giving off that lawless, no-morals kind of vibe, a statement like that sure seemed to indicate otherwise. Peter chewed on his pen, setting the notebook back on his pillow as he decided what to write next, based on his limited intel. Peter decided to go for what he really wanted to achieve, which was:

HOW TO MAKE MR LOKI ALL BETTER:

-Get him lots of food (nothing greasy and gross… he’d probably really like Asian food) and drinks (always do teas and happy drinks) because Mr Loki has definitely not been eating enough

-Get him to SLEEP (not sure how to make this one happen yet)

-Be very nice but not too nice or else he might freak out and kill you

-Surprise him in any way if you want him to listen, but don’t do it too much or too scary or else he might also freak out and kill you

-Try surprise compliments

-Try surprise hugs but only if he’s really sleepy or really happy

-Tiny boosts of positive reassurance

-Tiny nudges to talk about stuff

-Don’t let him attack or kill anybody

-Try to keep him out of trouble

-Don’t let him get recognised

-Don’t let the Avengers find out he’s alive

-GET HIM TO GO BACK TO MR THOR SO THEY CAN BE HAPPY

After he finally finished his list, Peter read it over a few times, to memorise it and ensure he was as ready as he possibly could be. He capped his pen and closed his notebook, dropping both into his bookbag, which he zipped fully closed afterwards and slid under his bed. Just in case. Peter turned off the lights again, and rolled over under his blankets, scolding himself. He probably didn’t need to bother with any of that. No one was going to find out because Mr Loki was almost positively not going to run into him again. It was unbelievable it had happened once, so Peter was fairly certain that was all it would ever be. One visit by one ghost god, and that was it.

All would be back to the usual Friendly-Neighbourhood- Spider-Man stuff. It was still really cool and all, but Peter had just witnessed something insane. And he really, really, really hoped that he could keep that green smoke in his hands.


	5. A Friend

Loki

By some blessing from Valhalla, Loki just so happened to keep his clone operational in his sleep. No one had noticed anything, and he could go right back to disguising himself as Odin with no suspicions whatsoever. It was perfect.

But he still hated it. He was still so sick of having to act like the Allfather. He’d thought that, by going down to Midgard, he could get some relief. That one little day off would be enough of freedom’s euphoric air, and it would last him for a good few years, at least. He’d be fine for a good, long while, and when the time came, Loki could pick another fun planet to go to. He’d find another little crack in the dimensions and slip through, just as he’d done Midgard. It would be perfect.

This was what he kept telling himself for an entire week. Loki really made an effort to convince himself of that lie, but no matter how much he repeated it in his head, no matter how strategically he rationalised it to be true, he still couldn’t believe his own lies. He didn’t want to go to another planet. He wanted to go back to Midgard. And he especially didn’t want to wait three more years to do it. He wanted to go right then because there was no way he could wait three whole years. And that was coming from an immortal _god._ Three years, in his lifetime, was supposed to be _nothing._

That child. The Spiderling. The Avenger in-training. Peter Parker. He was the biggest thing Loki couldn’t get out of his head.

Every morning, when he cast the illusion of Odin over himself, he could hear Peter’s soft voice telling him that he was going to get sleepy. At every meal, when Loki pretended to eat the food he knew the Allfather liked, he could see the Spiderling shaking his head and telling him he was getting too skinny. And every night, when Loki laid in Odin’s empty, enormous bed, alone, he could hear Peter trying to convince him to fall asleep, in order to replenish his seidr and make the next day at least a little less draining. But above all, there was the constant nagging, the tiny, invisible pull on his sleeve, and Loki could picture the Midgardian child, blinking up at him, and telling him that he truly _must-_ that he absolutely _had_ to tell Thor that he was still alive.

It’s not that Loki hadn’t had those thoughts, either. He did have them- every day, too. But, somehow, Peter Parker’s voice was a lot more difficult to ignore. And he’d only met him once. The fact that the Spiderling was so observant ordinarily would have petrified him. But it didn’t. He might even _like_ the child.

That was why, exactly six days later, Loki had called some security council meeting to order, announced that he was leaving to secure trade relations with some realm or another, and he wouldn’t be back for a few days. As Odin, he instructed his counsel to keep things in order and make sure no wars happened by the time he got back. And then, Loki had gone back to his room- but not the Allfather’s room. His actual room. Loki went to _Loki’s_ room. He bathed in his own chambers and finally snatched up his own hair products again. He got to pick out his own clothes from his own wardrobes, to lay in his own bed again, and just take in the serenity of- not orange, not gold, not red, not white- but emerald, pine, silver, blue, and black decorations.

Curtains, drapery, sheets, duvets, carpets, tinted glass windows, his own collection of trinkets he’d gathered over thousands of years: everything was exactly as he’d left it, because, as Odin, he’d made some fake speech about _preserving Loki’s memory by perfectly preserving all of his things and blah blah blah…_

It was ridiculously sentimental and sappy, but it had done the trick. About the only perk of being Odin was that everyone listened to him no matter how much of a moron he behaved. But, to be fair, the Allfather had always been moronic, and for millions and millions of years, the people of Asgard listened to him. In fact, Loki rather thought he was doing a much better job at being king than Odin ever was. He’d have fun here and there, but he was responsible, peaceful, organised, and- the best part was- he actually _listened_ to what the people wanted. Asgard seemed to love Loki’s Odin much better than they’d ever loved the real Odin.

That was how he justified packing a bag and slipping away, through his secret paths between realms, leaving Asgard and going straight down to New York again. Boredom was how Loki justified using a strand of Peter’s hair (left on the sleeve of his suit) for a tracking spell, and exhaustion was how he justified breaking into the Spiderlings’ home, through the very high window (it was several stories up) and onto his bed, where he promptly took another very well deserved nap.

It was the sound of creaking footsteps outside the closed bedroom door that snapped him back into consciousness. Loki opened an eye as the doorknob turned, and when the door opened, Loki gripped the pillow tighter, green light travelled down his body, and he was disguised as Peter Parker by the time the footsteps fully entered the room.

Loki sat up in bed, prepared to play the Spiderling as best he could, adopting his mannerisms and posture while he stretched, giving himself a moment to recall the exact expressions Peter’s face made-

But it was only Peter- the real Peter- and now there were two Spiderlings staring at one another, needlessly.

“Oh,” Loki sighed in relief, grinning as he reverted back into his own form. “Hello.”

The Spiderling dropped his book bag onto the hardwood, gaping.

“I apologise for momentarily stealing your identity,” Loki said, only a touch of sincerity in his tone. “It could have been anyone at that door, so I did have to take some precautionary measures.”

More silence.

“You have a terribly small bed, but I slept rather well. You did want me to sleep, yes?”

Peter, in a startling burst of motion, kicked his bag further into the room, sending it skidding across the floor while he slammed the door shut, bolting it immediately behind them. Then, he went over to the window, which Loki had left open, and closed it, quickly drawing the blinds down, too.

Peter slowly walked back to him, and Loki cocked his head, vaguely amused at his attempts to hide them from any potentially prying eyes. Finally, the Spiderling spoke. “What… are you doing here?”

“Threatening you,” Loki lied, rolling his eyes like it was supposed to be obvious. “What else would I be doing here?”

The Spiderling shrugged, but his face was still torn through with shock. “Napping.”

“Well, I-” He frowned. “No. That’s beside the point. My _primary_ goal was to ensure your silence.”

“Why’d you wait a week, then?” Peter challenged, kicking off his shoes and unzipping his jacket, the same red one he’d been wearing the first time they met. “That kinda gave me plenty of time to tell somebody. It’d have been the smartest to kill me in the alleyway.”

Loki opened his mouth to make up something else, but Peter was already smiling and shaking his head. He didn’t seem surprised anymore, like he knew something again, and Loki still hated feeling clueless to whatever it was. He didn’t care for feeling out of control, and statistically, the feeling shouldn’t have been possible when dealing with one so small. To make matters worse, the Spiderling came and sat down on the bed next to him, casually.

Unnerved, Loki scooted away, hugging his satchel to his chest and pushing himself into the corner of the walls.

Peter pointed to his satchel. “What’s in that?”

“Nothing,” He slapped the intruding hand away, defensive. But Loki felt a bit immature doing this, so he eventually muttered, “Clothing. But it matters not.”

The Spiderling dropped his arm and scanned him like he could see everything, and Loki couldn’t help retreating further and further into the corner.

“So you’re staying here for a while?” Peter went on asking questions, just as unbothered as he always was. “Why’d you really come? I know it’s not because you want to threaten me, so you can stop lying about that, Mr Loki- you know it doesn’t make a ton of sense, right?”

Loki searched the room for anything dangerous, useful, or both. He spotted the square of ceiling that opened into the attic and squinted. Something was off about it, but he hadn’t quite placed what. 

During all this, Peter hadn’t stopped speaking. Loki gave up on the attic for a moment, to shoot the Spiderling an annoyed look.

“I suppose, unless you were going to kill me, then disguise as me to avoid getting caught… but that’s not smart, either. If that’s your plan, then you probably didn’t sleep as much as I told you to.” Peter had started bouncing his legs, something he seemed to have a habit of doing.

Last time, that leg movement had put Loki to sleep a few times. For an entire hour, too- which still irked him. No, he hadn’t slept because he’d been too busy being Odin and trying to sleep in that horrid bed. There was no way he was going to sleep there. But with a three or four day holiday, where he didn’t even have to use up his magic with a clone- Loki was already tasting the sweet taste of revival. But that was precisely what the strange child had told him to do, and agreeing with him would be horribly humiliating.

Just to regain some dignity, he opened his mouth once more, but Peter still continued talking.

“See, you still wouldn’t need to bring a bag of clothes if you were going to disguise as me anyway, and I’m pretty sure the God of _Mischief_ wouldn’t openly reveal his plans like that, so that’s another reason I know you’ve gotta be lying-”

Loki growled, pressing his hands over his ears. “By Odin’s beard, _enough!”_

Peter was smiling at him, infuriatingly.

“Do you _ever_ stop talking?”

Peter bobbed his head, enthusiastically. “Definitely. I’m actually pretty quiet in school, it’s kind of awkward, but I’m trying to prove a point right now, so…"

“And your point is?”

The Spiderling didn’t answer him. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his mobile phone, and began tapping on the screen. Loki scooted himself right back over to Peter, hovering over his shoulder while knots tied in his abdomen. When Tony Stark’s picture flashed over the screen, however, he drew a dagger and for the third time pressed it to Peter’s throat.

“What are you doing?” He scowled, reaching for the phone with his other hand, trying to pry it out of Peter’s grip.

Peter just held the phone away from him, and though he missed the first few times he tried, he eventually managed to press a button, and the phone began to ring. “It’s okay, you’ll like it.”

“No, that’s Stark, and he does _not_ like me, therefore I do _not_ like him.” Loki continued to try to reach for it, with no regard for how his knife’s blade pushed against the Midgardian’s neck each time he did so. “What is it doing? Make it stop. Are you signalling him? Trying to set the Avengers on me?”

Peter wheezed a little bit and jerked, the first signs of a struggle. “No, none of that! You’ll see- but you’ve gotta get off me first- please, I promise it’s fine-”

And then the device spoke, in the Man of Iron’s voice. “Hey, kid- how was school?”

“G-good-” The Spiderling choked, as Loki kept him still. “Mr Stark, I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?”

The speaker’s slightly static sound came through, giving Stark’s voice much of the quality that it possessed when he wore the suit. “No harm in asking unless it’s illegal. Well. There might be a few exceptions- and are you losing your voice?”

“Yeah, I’m- I think I’m coming down with something really bad, Mr Stark.” Peter’s soft, chestnut eyes flickered back to his as he spoke, still fighting to get the words out.

He was lying. Loki felt his grip beginning to loosen around Peter’s neck, yet not quite enough to set him free.

“What do you need? Medicine? Soup? Books? Where’s your aunt May?” Something strangely like concern was in Stark’s tone, something almost… caring.

He swallowed, the knots of fear turning into knots of guilt.

_The books I’ve sent you. Do they not interest you?_

_Is that how I am to while away eternity? Reading._

Frigga had brought him books, pulled from the astronomy and fiction shelves. And every day she would send him warm soup, tea, and sometimes, when she could sneak it away, his mother sent him puddings. But, Loki had to remind himself, he wasn’t her son. He was responsible for her death, and he’d denied her as his mother just before she’d been slain by the Dark Elves.

It was all bringing up too many memories- the things that Loki only let surface when he was in Odin’s bed and he couldn’t sleep at night. He felt his eyes sting.

“No, it’s okay, we have stuff here-” Peter panted for a moment, squirming. Loki loosened his grip further, but he remained impassive in letting him go. “She's working right now, but she'll be home soon. It’s just that I wanted to do something really nice for my aunt May this weekend, to surprise her for working so hard to take care of me, but since I’m feeling so sick, I can’t-”

Peter coughed, beautifully convincingly, and glanced back at him again. He didn’t know where the Spiderling was going with pretending to be ill, but it seemed like he wanted Loki to notice his efforts.

“I can’t do all the stuff with her that I wanted to.” The Spiderling finished his sentence, looking relieved that he’d thought up a decent ending to it. “And I don’t wanna get her sick, either. So, I was wondering if you had any recommendations, Mr Stark- I want her to have a good time somewhere she’ll really-”

“On it.” Stark’s voice interrupted Peter in the middle of his lie, right when Loki thought he could figure out where it might have been going. “I’m going to call her up right now and tell her that you wanted to surprise her. She’ll have a whole resort, a suite, she can go get her hair done, her nails done, get a massage- whatever it is your aunt likes to do, and you can stay home and get better. I’m thinking three or four days. How does that sound?”

Peter’s face broke out into an enormous grin, and he looked positively delighted. “That’s perfect, Mr Stark- you’re so generous- thank you so much. You don’t need to do all that, though-”

“Trust me, kid.” Tony Stark’s voice spoke again, a particular note to it. “It’s my pleasure. You take good care of your aunt, and I think I’ve said it before, but I was never like that at your age. She deserves it, and you deserve to feel that satisfaction, too. So, I’m happy to do it.”

Loki had, without realising it, fully let go of the Spiderling, his blade vanished and Peter now clutching his device in both hands, still beaming into its screen.

“Wow- thank you so much again, Mr Stark, you’re really the best-”

“I really am, aren’t I?” Stark sounded like he was smiling. “Alright, feel better and let me know if you need anything.”

“Alright, I will- thank you.”

“Later, kid.”

“Bye!” Peter pressed a red button at the bottom of the screen, then re-pocketed his phone. He turned fully to him. “Now you can stay over.”

Loki, towards the end of the conversation, had slowly shifted himself back into the corner of the room, and there he sat, his emotions and thoughts all waging war on each other in his mind. It reminded him of Asgard’s wars of old, the wars that brought nothing but glory and title, of fear and power, all of it dancing about the hierarchical crown of pride. He felt a bit like that.

“I didn’t ask,” Loki murmured, the red of the call’s termination still burning in his vision.

Peter stood up from the bed, stretching himself out and touching his fingers to his neck. Loki noticed him wince at the small cut and his guilt only intensified. He dropped his eyes to his satchel, still in his lap, picking at his nails.

“You didn’t really need to ask,” Peter said. “The only thing I really want is for you to stop acting like you’re going to kill me. Or like I want to hurt you, because I don't. I honestly just want to be friends, Mr Loki.”

At that word, he looked back up, alarmed. “Friends?”

“Yeah, friends.”

Loki tried to detect the Spiderling for any traces of a lie. There were none. “You’re saying that you… want to be _my_ friend?”

“Yeah, I am.” Peter’s mouth pulled up on one side, and he opened the bedroom door, walking out and beckoning with his hand. “Come on, Mr Loki, we’ve got to make a plan before my aunt May comes home to grab her things.”

He was standing before he knew it, satchel dropped neatly by a nightstand as Loki followed Peter out of the room. Warmth was slowly, hesitantly, flooding his chest. It was one of the closest things to happiness that Loki had ever had for a very, very long time.


	6. Pudding and Science

Peter

He found it funny that Loki felt the need to tiptoe around the apartment, like Peter’s empty bag of chips from the other night was going to fly off the counter and attack him. Loki was eyeing everything with a very practised, cool air, but beneath his casual facade, Peter could very plainly see alertness. It was habits and quirks like these that gave him strong reasons to presume a few things about the god.

He opened the refrigerator, hoping to find something Loki might actually enjoy eating, but the options weren’t exactly thrilling. Grapes, milk, cheese, and a few leftovers so old that Peter couldn’t even remember when they’d actually turned up.

“Are you entirely certain of your plan?” Loki’s low voice rattled his chest from behind him, where the god was standing, arms folded, leaning against the counter as he watched Peter scavenge for food. “Mine is insurmountably better.”

He closed the fridge, padding over to the pantry to test his luck there instead. “You know, Mr Loki, I don’t think anyone actually uses that word in regular conversation.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Peter paused, his hand on the doorknob of the pantry. He looked back at Loki. “Insurmountably. I think I’ve maybe typed that word once, on one essay. I probably had to Google it, too. No one uses that word casually, I’m telling you. At least not here.”

“We do on Asgard.” He heard Loki argue, a streak of stubbornness in his voice. “And I know they use that word on Midgard, too.”

Peter laughed, opening the door with a soft creak. “Like a hundred years ago, maybe- but I don’t think Mr Thor has ever used a bigger word than ‘lightning’ in his whole life.”

“That’s because my bro-” Loki abruptly halted, and he slowly turned to him again, waiting. “That’s because Thor is a fool. Everyone on Asgard is essentially just as foolish, but they at least know how to string together words in a well-constructed composition of language.”

“I’m not even going to comment on that one,” Peter rolled his eyes and looked inside the pantry.

The pantry, as it turned out, had much better luck. Fruit snacks, pudding cartons, fruit cartons, rice treats, chips… Aunt May had done some good shopping recently, and that wasn’t even the half of it. As he dug through the many options, he called them back out to Loki, and to each one, the god replied with a no, or that he wasn’t interested, or that he wasn’t hungry, or that he didn’t want to try something if the name sounded made-up. Eventually, Peter decided to ignore Loki’s actual words and read between the lines of what Loki was saying.

But after a few seconds, Peter changed his mind again, because that was actually way too hard.

He wasn’t doing a terrible job at reading the God of Mischief, but he wasn’t an expert or anything. Loki was still a good liar and he was still just Peter. His new tactic, however, involved trying to remember all that Thor had said about Loki, some of it ranging from petty childhood insults to sappy childhood memories, and the word _pudding_ sure rang a bell somewhere. May as well try. He pulled out a butterscotch flavoured one and set it on the counter in front of Loki, waiting for his reaction.

Loki’s eyes widened, darting Peter up and down suspiciously before he did the same to the pudding cup, innocently waiting on the granite countertop. However, he crossed his arms tighter and leaned more casually, adopting an air of carelessness. “And what is that supposed to be?”

“Pudding,” He nodded, smartly. “It’s just in an Earth package because it’s shot full of preservatives and it's not homemade.”

If anything, Loki only looked more confused.

Peter was about to try re-explaining it when the front door suddenly opened, and in came the all too recognisable sounds of Aunt May’s high heels clicking on the hardwood floors. He gasped, panic swooping in his stomach, and Loki shot up like a cat, arms uncrossing to reveal daggers as sharp as the teeth he bared. They had no plan. He needed one. Fast.

“Peter, I’m home!” May called, and Peter could hear her taking off her shoes and coat, setting down her purse- about to make her way towards them.

Without thinking, he grabbed the very sharply armed Loki and yanked him towards the open pantry. But when Loki immediately hissed and tried to pull back, Peter shot web-shooters from his wrists, straight at the god. He fired several times, pinning Loki’s arms around himself, entrapping his legs together, and then, just to be safe, Peter covered Loki’s mouth with a sticky spider web, earning him a muffled, but still clearly shocked shout. It wasn’t until right then that Loki had known Peter could do anything different from an average little Earthling, but he assumed the god could put together exactly why he was called “Spider-Man.”

Loki, thankfully, still seemed too shocked to do much more than struggle weakly at the webs which bound him as Peter shoved him into the pantry and forced the door shut just in time. Aunt May walked into the kitchen, a massive grin on her face. She pulled him into a tight hug, then kissed his face several times, the true Italian way. Just when it was starting to become too much, May finally let up, still smiling. He smiled back but was glad Loki couldn't see him.

“I can’t believe you- you-” May was giggling excitedly over her words. “A resort, Peter? Ugh, you are the sweetest, most precious-”

He laughed, gulping when his voice cracked. Against the pantry door, he felt a soft thud. “Yeah- yeah, of course, Aunt May! I mean, you just work so hard to take care of me and all-”

“Oh, Peter…” His aunt’s eyes were beginning to glisten and her hands clasped over her heart. “I want you to know how grateful I am for you, too- you know, you mean so much to me and I-”

He nodded hastily, putting an arm on May’s shoulder and nudging her towards her room. “I love you too, Aunt May- but you really, _really_ have to get your stuff and go because Mr Stark said-”

“Ah!” Aunt May clapped her hands together, skittering off to her room. “You’re right, I don’t have much time to grab a few things before I leave, I really shouldn’t be talking, but I just-”

The rest of her sentence trailed into nothing as Aunt May vanished into her room, and all discernable words became gradually less so until Peter could hear nothing at all besides enthusiastic exclamations that he every now and then laughed at or agreed with. He felt Loki slamming against the inside of the pantry door some more, and Peter was very worried that whenever he let Loki out, or whenever Loki got it open himself, he was so dead. As in, he was going to be literally murdered- _that_ sort of dead. Peter didn't think Aunt May would like to come home to his gross corpse after the fun vacation Mr Stark had set up so generously for her. He really wanted to prevent that scenario, if at all possible, so, in a ditch-effort to calm Loki down, he turned around and whispered very loudly into the crack between the door and its frame, hoping that it would do some good.

“Mr Loki, I promise you can come out as soon as May leaves-” Peter whispered, and Loki, evidently having heard him, faintly made another angry sound and banged even louder. “Please- stop that- you’ve got to stay quiet, I had to come up with something fast, okay? I’m not betraying you, so please don’t kill me or do something bad. I’m promising, so I need you to promise, too, Mr Loki.”

He pressed his ear against the door, listening hard. Loki had gone quiet.

"Please?" He raised his voice a little louder.

Loki still didn't do anything back.

He turned back around, pressing his back to the pantry door. He could feel the weight of the god tipped against it, and he felt like Aunt May might just happen to get x-ray vision or something. He was playing it down, but he was truthfully more nervous than he had been the one time he cheated on an exam- and he nearly wet himself that day. But now he had just locked a god in his pantry. Peter felt like he was sweating a lot and he was being super obvious about it. He’d done the same thing the first time he’d spoken to Mr Stark after meeting Loki, and he’d done the same to his best friend Ned when he asked Peter how his weekend had been. If Loki didn’t kill him, he’d need to ask him for some tips on how to pull off lying without sweating so hard.

May came back into the kitchen, a small suitcase packed very messily with a bunch of clothing still hanging out of the sides. She blew her hair off her shoulders and peppered Peter with several more hugs and kisses, assuring him profusely that they’d do something wonderful as soon as she got back. It was about another five or ten minutes before his aunt May actually left the house again, and with every passing minute, Peter felt more and more like he was going to break the record for the youngest person to ever have a heart attack. But when she did, after he’d led her out the front door, Peter sprinted straight to the pantry and opened the door.

A sticky, web-trapped Loki tumbled out, landing flat on his face with a heavy smack.

Peter winced. “Oops.”

On the floor, Loki groaned and weakly rolled onto his side, uncoordinated and messy in his efforts.

“Mr Loki?” He asked, tentatively. “Your magic can undo those webs, right?”

Loki didn’t flop around or make a noise, so he presumed that the god wasn’t going to do anything at all until Peter elaborated further, which, unfortunately for him, was the last thing he felt like doing, in case Loki _couldn’t_ undo the webs with his magic.

He hesitated. “Um… well, if you can’t, then… it’ll take two hours to dissolve.”

Loki’s head lifted, and when he made a noise that time, it was the loudest and most indignant one yet. But above all that, it was the noise of someone who sounded downright horrified of being trapped for two hours in such a humiliating situation- and that wasn't a particularly enormous thing to comprehend. Loki struggled on the floor, writhing around in the webs that wrapped around his legs and his arms, all of his limbs bound to his body so that Loki was unfit for any sort of dignity. Peter watched Loki twist around, unsure whether to laugh at him or feel guilty for covering him in spider webs and shoving him in his pantry. He decided to feel both things, but keep the laughing to himself.

Then, from Loki’s torso, where the outline of his trapped hands was, he started to see a green light, glowing, pulsing for a moment through the white layers of webs. Loki rolled once more, onto his back, and raised his neck to squint at his own efforts. Loki’s eyes squeezed shut, and the glow from beneath the webs grew even brighter, lime threads of light shooting out in a blinding brightness.

Peter was impressed at how resilient his webs were, even against the powers of a god, but he was beginning to feel pretty badly for Loki. He knew he’d hate to be in that position.

Something that sounded very close to a whimper escaped Loki’s throat, though Peter thought he might have been imagining it because the sound was hard to hear through the webby-gag thing and the weird glowy sound of mystical magic that was still struggling to break through. A throbbing vein of concentration and heavy exertion had appeared on Loki’s forehead, his face screwed up even tighter, the green magic that held Peter in awe was still glowing, with more vibrancy- more intensity.

A sharp crackling noise, the thousands of individual threads of the webs that bound Loki splintered, they too were infused with green light, and then- they shattered like the dusting of glass. Destroyed.

“Wow,” Peter breathed. “That was really, really cool, Mr Loki.”

Loki, still on the floor, was breathing harder than seemed healthy. Loki glared at him like he didn’t believe Peter meant what he said in the slightest. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. I’ve never seen that stuff before. The only magic I’ve seen you do before is your stabby knife thing. Oh, and mimicking me when I first got home. What else can you do?” He tried to offer Loki his hand to stand up, but Loki slapped it harshly away and got onto his hands and knees by himself, though it didn’t seem very easy for him.

Loki finally got to his feet, back to an entire six inches above him as he procured one of his magic daggers, likely just to prove his neverending, pointlessly pointless point. “Would you like to see another magic trick, then, Spiderling?”

“Uh-”

Loki tilted the knife towards Peter, cocking his head dangerously and taking a step nearer to him. “If you really believe _that_ was impressive, then how about I turn you to your namesake? Is that _cool_ enough for you? If you were nothing more than a small _araneae,_ you could easily be trodden upon underfoot-”

“A what?” Peter interrupted, trying to distract the god with a question, even if it was a genuine one. “What’s an ara- aran-?”

Loki frowned, the blade dropping slightly. _“Araneae.”_

He shrugged, in reply.

“It- that’s the nickname you’ve given for them nowadays on Midgard. You call the _araneae_ spiders and the _formicidae_ ants, do you not? The nicknames you use for them are the… slang terms, I believe, for their actual names.” Loki was searching him for an answer. “Is that not correct? The slang Midgard has adopted for the _araneae_ is spider- yes?”

He had no idea what Loki was going on about, but the possibility of Loki’s elegant vocabulary being somehow off was distracting him enough so that Peter felt less worried about being stabbed or turned into… whatever Loki had just said.

He raised a finger, hoping to be helpful enough to win back the favour of the unpredictable and decently temperamental god. “How about you describe what it looks like, and I can tell you whether or not we’re thinking of the same thing.”

Loki’s brows creased, tentatively. “They have eight legs and often eight eyes. They spin webs for which to catch prey. Additionally, they have fangs for which to inject venom, and while they are not large in comparison to a Midgardian, their size is greatly varied by species and-”

“Yeah, that’s a spider,” Peter assured. “But that’s just their name. It’s not slang.”

Loki vanished away the knife. “But I learned-”

“One second, Mr Loki.” He dug in his pocket for a moment, grabbing his phone and doing a quick search, just to confirm a mounting suspicion that had started to grow. Sure enough, with the aid of a breezy Google search, he found out he'd been right.

Loki rushed over like he'd forgotten to be scary, hovering over his shoulder again. “What is it?”

He tilted the screen towards Loki, smiling. “See, Mr Loki? That makes way more sense. You’re not wrong, you’re just using their scientific names, and hardly anyone knows those. You know, that’s even older and weirder than using something like _insurmountably_ in conversation.”

Loki leaned away from the screen, visibly uncomfortable. “Is it?”

“It just makes you fancier and cooler, Mr Loki, don’t worry about it.” Peter put his phone away, then went back over to the butterscotch pudding, still waiting on the counter. “You've really gotta try this, though. I bet you haven't had this kind before, right?”

Loki narrowed his eyes to read the container, the word foreign-sounding as the god tried to pronounce it. "Butter... scotch. I know the two separately, but..."

"It's really good," Peter sang, wanting to tempt Loki into taking it, picking it up off the counter and waving it towards Loki.

Much to his delight, Loki did slowly approach him. Peter held out the cup, waiting for him to take it. Loki was watching his every move carefully, with more caution again, perhaps because of the webs, or possibly it was Peter’s regular human decency that perplexed the God of Mischief- as it always seemed to. He didn’t believe Loki would really take it, but he wasn’t bothered. He’d just gotten himself three or four days to try and get the god to try a packaged butterscotch pudding.

Loki’s arm reached out. Peter watched him, his carefully neutral expression, even as Loki’s hand slowly enclosed around the container in his hand.

Amazed, he looked up at Loki’s face and beamed.

In reply, the corners of Loki’s mouth almost nervously turned up, his unnaturally sharp pair of cheekbones softening in something Peter almost could have sworn was genuine.


End file.
